


Close Your Eyes

by FievreAlgide



Category: French Revolution RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 13:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21320668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FievreAlgide/pseuds/FievreAlgide
Summary: Three connected (very) short fics exploring the undisclosed and cryptic sexual issues that Robespierre and Saint-Just often struggle with in the depths of my psyché. (Old fic repost with some minor alterations/edits.)
Relationships: Maximilien Robespierre/Louis Antoine de Saint-Just
Kudos: 25





	1. Tension

**Author's Note:**

> First Posted on LiveJournal in April and May 2009.

Saint-Just tensed slightly (so that he would not shiver) as he sensed the deft fingers of his friend's right hand trailing down his spine. Robespierre observed the creases his fingertips created in the soft fabric of the younger man's coat. 

When he reached the small of the back, he applied more pressure with two of his fingers. Saint-Just stifled a gasp and slightly jerked forward. Softly, the hand resting on Saint-Just's shoulder augmented its pressure in a comforting grip. The two fingers, responsible of the brusque movement, then started circling one of the fabric-covered buttons in the back. 

Those lovely buttons gave these coats such a lovely shape, and made Saint-Just's bearing so delightful to observe. 

Robespierre's left hand slid down the other man's sleeve to reach the waistline, and both of his hands pressed and embraced the hips. In a grip, in a swift pull, he glued the younger man's back to his body. Saint-Just didn't have time to stifle his gasp. He pursed his lips, and shut his eyes. 

Robespierre rested his head against his friend's left shoulder (just where his hand used to be). He nuzzled the folds of the rigid collar, where the locks danced each time he moved his head. He breathed in the hair's particular scent, as he brushed a few curls away from the side of the young man's face. 

Saint-Just turned his cheek to him, and Robespierre applied a soft kiss onto it. Saint-Just smiled, appreciatively. 

Robespierre's lips lingered, tickled by the facial hair starting to grow again, and reached the ear, which he kissed as well. He moistened his lips, and Saint-Just tensed even more, feeling the tip of his friend's tongue unintentionally brushing against his lobe. 

Robespierre's left hand moved up to his friend's chest, caressing over the similarly soft buttons, while his other fingers soothingly stroked the lush curls. Saint-Just shut his eyes tighter, furrowing his brow, and uneasily tried to relax into his friend's embrace. The older man caught the back of the lobe between his lips, nipped and suckled until a deep moan escaped from Saint-Just's throat. The young man's eyes flashed wide opened, and shut again immediately. 

Robespierre's right hand posed itself onto the one that was already on Saint-Just's chest, and he held him. Saint-Just's hands joined them, pushing to remove some of the pressure against his lungs. 

Saint-Just's breathing seemed so heavy suddenly, but his mouth remained shut so that no more sound would come out from it. He heard a "shh" being whispered, as Robespierre always did, and the cool air breathed against his moistened lobe didn't make him tense nor shiver. It made him blink, a few times, before he shut his eyes again, less tightly. He swallowed and broke the far too fast pace of his breathing, slowing it down. 

Robespierre continued, kissing the lobe right next to the hoop, as he also always did. Saint-Just relaxed, being familiar with this, being _comfortable_ with this, until his friend's tongue stretches out a bit too far behind his lobe, reaching still unexplored skin. Saint-Just muttered an ambivalent "Ahh" and tilted his head to the side, ear rubbing against shoulder. 

Robespierre withdrew and rested his head against the younger man's back, hands releasing him on the front and stroking lightly. "I stop," he whispered. 

Saint-Just caught back his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Posted on LiveJournal on April 3, 2009.


	2. Frustration

"Antoine, are you well?"

The voice was concerned, fragile, but Saint-Just couldn't answer.

He stepped forward and placed his hands on the cabinet. He turned his back to Robespierre, so Robespierre wouldn't see when his young friend shut his eyes. Shutting his eyes to find his focus. To find it within himself. Because he didn't want to explain. He didn't want to discuss it, talk about it. He didn't want words, meaningless and inefficient chattering; he wanted action. And he didn't want to be shutting his eyes so tightly. So painfully. But he didn't want to keep them open either. Tragic dilemma.

Saint-Just turned back and, in two steps, closed the distance between he and his friend. He clasped him in his arms and kissed him sharply. It was a very short kiss, yet it bruised both of their lips, Antoine’s nipping at Maximilien’s. Maximilien winced a bit, pressing his fingers on his friend’s shoulders to communicate his feelings. 

Saint-Just pulled back, brusquely – and why was he always so brusque? – still holding the other’s hands, pushing him, then pulling him closer. And there seemed to be no emotion in his face when he said "Do it", but Robespierre knew he was just pretending, even when he repeated, "Do the same." 

Maximilien started shaking his head, but Saint-Just looked at him with these eyes – these indomitable yet beseeching eyes – and so Maximilien looked elsewhere and pursed his lips. Hesitant, he remembered how he had held his younger friend's waist a moment before, and how he had felt, his fingertips running over the soft fabric. So he repeated it, this time holding Saint-Just by facing him and, pulling him towards him, they kissed again. One of his hands pressed against the young man's back as it reached up. His fingertips dug and entangled into his hair.

It was sweet and soft, and thus Saint-Just urged his body against the other man's, colliding together. He parted his lips wider and wanted Maximilien to take his mouth wholly, to claim it by pushing his tongue into it. But Maximilien wasn't doing it. He was doing barely anything, brushing his lips, lightly, against the young man's. He wasn't doing what he had asked. Frustrated, Saint-Just moaned to entice him. It was a deep, throaty sound he barely recognised as his own and he winced, frightened and... disgusted with himself. He felt weak, suddenly, wanting to fall back, and wishing that Maximilien fell on him. And it did happen as he had wished, fancied, hoped for – but it was because they had walked to the bed, and he hadn't noticed. So when he fell, it was on mattress and bedcovers – his own. He moaned again, still hating it, and he ground the lower parts of his body against the other man's. He tried encouraging him the best he could, with a grin on his lips and a flush on his cheeks.

"You’re not saying that you’ll stop now, are you?"

He breathed this so hotly against Robespierre’s cheek that it could almost have been scraping. But Robespierre placed his hands on his friend’s hips, stopping his movement anyway. This time, it didn’t need to be said. Saint-Just looked up at his friend.

"Maxime, how can you resist this way?" He asked, curling a finger in the other man's loose hair. "All the time?"

"Antoine," Maximilien calmly replied. "Close your eyes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Posted on LiveJournal on April 7 2009.


	3. Transfiguration

Saint-Just's face was like marble, looking nothing like it did a few moments before. Robespierre could have ran a finger along the side of his left cheek, and no muscle would have twitched, he was sure. His eyes hadn't moved a millimetre, fixed and holding up his own, and his beautiful lips remained obstinately shut, firmly pressed against each other.

Perfect, flawless marble indeed.

"Close your eyes," Maximilien repeated, whispering softly.

"No."

His lips barely moved to say this very convinced _no_. And Robespierre knew he wouldn't have to ask "why", because it was perfectly pointless. Saint-Just's features had taken this look which provoked everywhere he walked either hatred or uneasiness. Although for Maximilien, it was love. A deep, unexplainable love for the stoical strength radiating from this young man. This stoical, impassive young man who was yet so shaken from the inside. And would it stop if Robespierre was giving in? If he accepted? And how far should he go? And what should he do? And what caresses would make this feel less like a burden? What oppressed him from the inside? What pain? What... _fear?_

And it still amazed him how Saint-Just could keep this sublime look while he was spread back on the bed under him, although with such frightening rigidity, his hair falling around his head like a halo. If only he could see himself like this, how sublime he truly was, in every sense. Maybe then the pain and fear would both be beaten down and destroyed.

"You are sublime," it slipped from his lips.

Saint-Just tilted his head slightly, though his features remained frozen. "I inspire you a sacred awe?"

"Yes. Always."

The corners of Antoine's lips twisted up into a thin smile, and his marble eyes seemed to brighten. Maximilien loved to see him smile. He loved this specific, slightly mischievous smile. But he also loved to see him smile specifically for him, because it was so... _unique_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Posted on LiveJournal on 15 May 2009.


End file.
